Entry tags:
Many-Chambered Heart
Title: Many-Chambered Heart
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
Characters: Lehran, Sanaki
Word count: 1523
Warnings: Spoilers and such.
Notes:![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fe_exchange gift for myaru.
Everyone who's anyone in Tellius hugs a heron at some point. It's how you know you're a big deal.
He'd walked down these halls many times before.
No. He'd walked down halls that looked much like these, and happened to be located in the exact same place as these, but not these halls. And not he. There had been, he reflected, allowing himself a small smile, substantial redecoration on both sides. It was difficult to say with any certainty which unbalanced him more: the restoration of his wings (yet without enough muscle to control them anymore, and hardly any sensation in them at all), or... all this.
He wouldn't say Sanaki had revamped the Cathedral to suit her own tastes. That had been an ongoing process from the moment she was old enough to point at things and nod. But in some way its resemblance to its empress had crystallized: everything in reds and purples, and here and there a glint of gold – not for ostentation, but – to him it only evoked the gleam of her eyes, that selfsame color. He wondered whether she'd arranged this so he'd feel he was being watched.
She'd also done away with a lot of the art. Before, this particular corridor had been lined with portraits of Apostles past, and looking at them chronologically he'd been able to trace the slow disappearance of Altina's features, gradually subsumed by the contributions of nearly every other important bloodline of Tellius. These had been interspersed with what he knew to be rather liberal interpretations of various historical scenes. Almost all of them were gone. He wondered what message he was supposed to take from this. No doubt that Begnion was headed in a new direction, but wasn't there also some private message embedded here for him? She had always found ways of speaking to him in code, before. A vase moved a few inches off-center. A single dog-eared page in a cartload of books she'd had sent to him seemingly on a whim. But he had lost the gift for interpretation, or else she had lost the inclination to be interpreted. Secret meanings tugged at his mind, but none caught hold.
The tapestries that remained were very old indeed, but copies of even older ones at that. The originals dated back to the days when Begnion had not been a beorc empire only. That meaning, at least, was quite clear. Good for her. In fact, he thought he remembered who had woven the original of this one here – some hawk-tribe expatriate, her long fingers on commission for a past Apostle.
But he should not tarry much longer. Sanaki had summoned him. She had insisted the bird tribes inform her the instant they were satisfied with the effects of the galdrar, and then she had summoned him. So Lehran had come, to walk these halls that were now no more familiar than they should have been.
There was one last tapestry before her door – an oft-copied image of four heroes. He had never cared for his depiction, but then, Deghinsea had once complained of his as well, even though the likeness was near perfect – "It looks more like you than you do," Soan had said with sardonic humor. Even so, many later renderings of the image omitted the figure of Lehran, at his own request. He ought not wonder how Sanaki had recovered this one, but why. Why had it so obviously been cleaned recently, and why was it here.
He stopped looking at it, and he knocked on the door. Years ago they had devised a certain pattern of knocks to be used under special circumstances – "For when it isn't political business?" he'd suggested, but she'd replied, "Everything I do is political business. That knock just means it's only us doing it" – and he discarded the possibility of using it with a certain wistfulness. But he didn't dare.
"Enter," she said. He did.
She looked different – not much, but enough. The chamber had been rearranged, slightly, but enough. She stood in front of a table, which presumably had things on it, and which he barely saw.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him, but then her mouth compressed to a thin line as she stamped out her surprise. "Seph– Lehran. I see you're well." That was all the acknowledgment he was likely to get of the change he had undergone. She had incorporated the information and would move forward. "If you'd taken much longer, you would have found out how serious I was about the butter." She folded her arms. "I had the tub prepared days ago, but it hasn't gone rancid yet."
He smiled slightly and bowed from the waist. "A mercy I do not deserve, my empress."
"I'm well aware."
He straightened. "Sanaki..."
She held up a hand to silence him, then waved it toward the table. "You still like fruit," she said. It could have been a statement of fact or an imperative – you will still like fruit, I command it – but the one thing it certainly was not was a question.
"Of course." He approached the table. A pomegranate on one plate had one segment removed, exposing the glistening seeds that clung to its inner walls, like droplets of blood in a many-chambered heart. The seeds from the missing segment were piled neatly on another plate. Lehran picked it up. "You remember that old story," he said – also not a question. "If I eat these, I'll have to stay."
She lifted her chin, light flashing in her golden eyes. "That was the general idea." Her stare did not let up until he'd eaten twelve seeds, and even then softened only slightly, her fists unclenching. There was red on her fingertips, too bright for blood and darker than the lacquer on her nails. He suspected he knew where it had come from – she remembered that old story, after all.
"Is it to your liking?" she asked, uncertain for the first time in this conference, a tiny frown creasing her brow.
"Yes," he said, although taking the seeds only one at a time had barely furnished enough juice for him to detect any flavor at all. Now he took a handful, and the taste as the seeds burst between his teeth was tart, a little too complex for mere sweetness.
"Good," said Sanaki. Then, briskly, "Your chambers are as you left them. We have much to do."
Could it really be that simple? That she expected and desired his return, he had only occasionally doubted – fine, a bit more than "occasionally" – but to be accepted back so easily – albeit without any especial warmth, but without any other comment either –
He bowed again, bewildered. "Yes, Empress."
"If you ever act against my interests again, the pool of rancid butter may become a permanent installation," she said, and there was a tightness to her voice that he recognized.
"I understand."
"You don't," she snapped, and if he'd remembered so much about her then surely he could have remembered what the barest trace of condescendence would earn him. She was not a child and never had been; it was the one aptitude she'd been born without. "You have no idea." She swept past him toward the door, and for a moment he thought she was going to abandon him here in her own bedchamber with a table she hadn't admitted to laying out for him herself. After all that had happened, this was one thing he thought he couldn't face.
She stopped just short of the door. He watched her shoulders rise and fall dramatically with a single deep breath, and then she turned to him again.
They stood in silence.
Then with small, rapid steps, Sanaki crossed the floor between them. She embraced him, and abasement and guilt and an unworthy sort of gratitude lurched and spun through his mind for half an eternity before he thought to return the gesture, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
She rested her head against his chest. "I missed you," she said simply. "I don't care if you're a risk."
Of course she had assessed that. Of course she had a new government, and of course she had dozens of new, reliable advisors and courtiers confirming that judgment – they would not be without corruption, but it would be corruption of a predictable sort, controllable, downright modest beside the old Senate's depravities. She'd have seen to it. She'd have wasted no time.
She would surely know better than to offer him a ministerial position again, but she had ordered him back all the same. He had wondered over that all the way to Sienne. But it was possible her purposes were more straightforward than he'd thought.
"I missed you, too," he said in a near whisper.
She stepped back and he let her go. "I expect to have the trade agreement with Goldoa ratified by noon," she said, matter-of-fact. From the sundial he'd glimpsed on his way in, that gave her about two hours. He'd believe it. "We'll talk later." She started to move toward the door again, stopped abruptly, and turned back, fixing her eyes on him. "And, Lehran?"
"Yes?"
She pointed to the pomegranate on its tray. "All of it."
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn
Characters: Lehran, Sanaki
Word count: 1523
Warnings: Spoilers and such.
Notes:
fe_exchange gift for myaru.Everyone who's anyone in Tellius hugs a heron at some point. It's how you know you're a big deal.
He'd walked down these halls many times before.
No. He'd walked down halls that looked much like these, and happened to be located in the exact same place as these, but not these halls. And not he. There had been, he reflected, allowing himself a small smile, substantial redecoration on both sides. It was difficult to say with any certainty which unbalanced him more: the restoration of his wings (yet without enough muscle to control them anymore, and hardly any sensation in them at all), or... all this.
He wouldn't say Sanaki had revamped the Cathedral to suit her own tastes. That had been an ongoing process from the moment she was old enough to point at things and nod. But in some way its resemblance to its empress had crystallized: everything in reds and purples, and here and there a glint of gold – not for ostentation, but – to him it only evoked the gleam of her eyes, that selfsame color. He wondered whether she'd arranged this so he'd feel he was being watched.
She'd also done away with a lot of the art. Before, this particular corridor had been lined with portraits of Apostles past, and looking at them chronologically he'd been able to trace the slow disappearance of Altina's features, gradually subsumed by the contributions of nearly every other important bloodline of Tellius. These had been interspersed with what he knew to be rather liberal interpretations of various historical scenes. Almost all of them were gone. He wondered what message he was supposed to take from this. No doubt that Begnion was headed in a new direction, but wasn't there also some private message embedded here for him? She had always found ways of speaking to him in code, before. A vase moved a few inches off-center. A single dog-eared page in a cartload of books she'd had sent to him seemingly on a whim. But he had lost the gift for interpretation, or else she had lost the inclination to be interpreted. Secret meanings tugged at his mind, but none caught hold.
The tapestries that remained were very old indeed, but copies of even older ones at that. The originals dated back to the days when Begnion had not been a beorc empire only. That meaning, at least, was quite clear. Good for her. In fact, he thought he remembered who had woven the original of this one here – some hawk-tribe expatriate, her long fingers on commission for a past Apostle.
But he should not tarry much longer. Sanaki had summoned him. She had insisted the bird tribes inform her the instant they were satisfied with the effects of the galdrar, and then she had summoned him. So Lehran had come, to walk these halls that were now no more familiar than they should have been.
There was one last tapestry before her door – an oft-copied image of four heroes. He had never cared for his depiction, but then, Deghinsea had once complained of his as well, even though the likeness was near perfect – "It looks more like you than you do," Soan had said with sardonic humor. Even so, many later renderings of the image omitted the figure of Lehran, at his own request. He ought not wonder how Sanaki had recovered this one, but why. Why had it so obviously been cleaned recently, and why was it here.
He stopped looking at it, and he knocked on the door. Years ago they had devised a certain pattern of knocks to be used under special circumstances – "For when it isn't political business?" he'd suggested, but she'd replied, "Everything I do is political business. That knock just means it's only us doing it" – and he discarded the possibility of using it with a certain wistfulness. But he didn't dare.
"Enter," she said. He did.
She looked different – not much, but enough. The chamber had been rearranged, slightly, but enough. She stood in front of a table, which presumably had things on it, and which he barely saw.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him, but then her mouth compressed to a thin line as she stamped out her surprise. "Seph– Lehran. I see you're well." That was all the acknowledgment he was likely to get of the change he had undergone. She had incorporated the information and would move forward. "If you'd taken much longer, you would have found out how serious I was about the butter." She folded her arms. "I had the tub prepared days ago, but it hasn't gone rancid yet."
He smiled slightly and bowed from the waist. "A mercy I do not deserve, my empress."
"I'm well aware."
He straightened. "Sanaki..."
She held up a hand to silence him, then waved it toward the table. "You still like fruit," she said. It could have been a statement of fact or an imperative – you will still like fruit, I command it – but the one thing it certainly was not was a question.
"Of course." He approached the table. A pomegranate on one plate had one segment removed, exposing the glistening seeds that clung to its inner walls, like droplets of blood in a many-chambered heart. The seeds from the missing segment were piled neatly on another plate. Lehran picked it up. "You remember that old story," he said – also not a question. "If I eat these, I'll have to stay."
She lifted her chin, light flashing in her golden eyes. "That was the general idea." Her stare did not let up until he'd eaten twelve seeds, and even then softened only slightly, her fists unclenching. There was red on her fingertips, too bright for blood and darker than the lacquer on her nails. He suspected he knew where it had come from – she remembered that old story, after all.
"Is it to your liking?" she asked, uncertain for the first time in this conference, a tiny frown creasing her brow.
"Yes," he said, although taking the seeds only one at a time had barely furnished enough juice for him to detect any flavor at all. Now he took a handful, and the taste as the seeds burst between his teeth was tart, a little too complex for mere sweetness.
"Good," said Sanaki. Then, briskly, "Your chambers are as you left them. We have much to do."
Could it really be that simple? That she expected and desired his return, he had only occasionally doubted – fine, a bit more than "occasionally" – but to be accepted back so easily – albeit without any especial warmth, but without any other comment either –
He bowed again, bewildered. "Yes, Empress."
"If you ever act against my interests again, the pool of rancid butter may become a permanent installation," she said, and there was a tightness to her voice that he recognized.
"I understand."
"You don't," she snapped, and if he'd remembered so much about her then surely he could have remembered what the barest trace of condescendence would earn him. She was not a child and never had been; it was the one aptitude she'd been born without. "You have no idea." She swept past him toward the door, and for a moment he thought she was going to abandon him here in her own bedchamber with a table she hadn't admitted to laying out for him herself. After all that had happened, this was one thing he thought he couldn't face.
She stopped just short of the door. He watched her shoulders rise and fall dramatically with a single deep breath, and then she turned to him again.
They stood in silence.
Then with small, rapid steps, Sanaki crossed the floor between them. She embraced him, and abasement and guilt and an unworthy sort of gratitude lurched and spun through his mind for half an eternity before he thought to return the gesture, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
She rested her head against his chest. "I missed you," she said simply. "I don't care if you're a risk."
Of course she had assessed that. Of course she had a new government, and of course she had dozens of new, reliable advisors and courtiers confirming that judgment – they would not be without corruption, but it would be corruption of a predictable sort, controllable, downright modest beside the old Senate's depravities. She'd have seen to it. She'd have wasted no time.
She would surely know better than to offer him a ministerial position again, but she had ordered him back all the same. He had wondered over that all the way to Sienne. But it was possible her purposes were more straightforward than he'd thought.
"I missed you, too," he said in a near whisper.
She stepped back and he let her go. "I expect to have the trade agreement with Goldoa ratified by noon," she said, matter-of-fact. From the sundial he'd glimpsed on his way in, that gave her about two hours. He'd believe it. "We'll talk later." She started to move toward the door again, stopped abruptly, and turned back, fixing her eyes on him. "And, Lehran?"
"Yes?"
She pointed to the pomegranate on its tray. "All of it."